PS 

3519 

A73 

L6 


JC-NRLI 


8fJ 

O/s/e  Jan  is 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
HARRY  MONTEFIORE  GOLDBERG 

PRESENTED  BY 
Josa  Goldberg 


LOVE    LETTERS 
OF  AN   ACTRESS 


by 

O/f/e  Jan  is 


and    Company 
york  and  London 


LIBRARY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY 


Printed  in  the 
United  States 
of  America. 


To  My  Friends 


Foreword 

This  little  book  is  not  in  the  least  statistical, 
it  is  merely  the  legitimate  off-spring  of  imagi 
nation  and  observation.  Personally,  the  only 
man  that  ever  told  me  he  could  not  live  with 
out  me  was  divorced  by  the  lady  he  married 
two  months  afterwards,  on  the  ground  of 
cruelty.  However,  this  is  my  idea  of  how  a 
popular  actress  should  be  loved. 

ELSIE  JANIS. 


Contributors 

PAGE 

The  Boy         .         .         .         .         .       i 

Age  19,  At  College 

The  Lawyer  .          .         .         .         .       9 
Age  35,  Successful  in  New  York 

The  Composer         .         .         .  19 

Age  30,  Unsuccessful  in  New  York 

The  Actor      .         ,         .         ..         .31 
Age  32,  Successful  on  the  Road 

The  Platonic  Friend         .          .          .     43 
Age  29,  Successful  in  Chicago 

The  Millionaire       .         .         .         -53 
Age  $8,  Just  a  Millionaire 


PAGE 

The  Literary  Man  .          »         .          .61 
Age  34,  Successful  at  the  Moment 

The  Farmer    .          .          .      .   .          -     73 
Age  27 ,  A  Man  Prom  Home 

The  Stranger  .          .         *         .     85 

Age?,     ?     ?     ?     ?     ? 

AND 

The  Actress 
Age  24,  Successful  Everywhere 


LOVE   LETTERS 
OF  AN  ACTRESS 


The  Boy 


His  First  Letter 
YALE  COLLEGE,  64  YORK  STREET 

DEAR  Miss  MARSDEN  : 

I  know  you  have  hundreds  of  these  re 
quests  a  day,  but  please  do  not  tear  this  effu 
sion  up  without  giving  it  a  chance.  When  I 
say  it,  I  mean  "me."  I  want  your  picture, 
with  your  name  on  it.  (That  sounds  like  I 
had  a  gun  to  back  the  demand  up  with,  but  in 
this  case  I  have  only  that  feeble  thing  called 
a  heart.)  At  this  moment  I  want  your  pic 
ture  much  more  than  I  do  the  diploma  which 
my  dad  fondly  believes  I  will  receive  two 
years  from  now.  I  will  say  no  more.  But 
if  it  is  any  satisfaction  to  a  wonderful  person 
like  you  are,  it  is  the  first  picture  I  ever 
wanted,  let  alone  asked  for. 
Yours  sincerely, 

JOHN  J.  WILKINS,  Jr. 

p.  s. — Am  coming  to  town  for  Easter ;  shall 
see  you  every  night  from  the  front.  If  you 
decide  to  grant  my  request,  address  52  East 
;8th  Street,  Town.  J.  J.  W. 

3 


Her  Answer 

17  EAST  57TH  STREET 


DEAR  MR.  WILKINS: 


You  have  used  a  far  more  deadly  weapon 
than  a  gun,  and  to  such  an  extent  that  I  am 
taking  pleasure  in  answering  your  note  my 
self.  I  send  the  best  picture  I  have.  It  is 
my  favorite.  Now,  your  father  cannot  blame 
me  if  you  do  not  get  that  diploma.  If  you 
would  like  it,  you  might  come  in  to  tea  Friday 
of  this  week.  I  am  not  usually  so  informal, 
but  you  sound  sincere,  and  where  there  is 
sincerity,  there  is  no  need  for  formality. 
Cordially, 

MARY  MARSDEN. 


His  Letter 

Two  weeks  later 

MONDAY 
DEAREST  OF  ALL  : 

Oh,  how  can  I  drag  through  these  miserable 
days  and  nights.  Since  being  in  your  pres 
ence  Saturday,  I  have  been  as  one  in  a  dream ; 
just  existing  on  the  memory  of  your  sweet 
ness.  I  know  you  will  say  I  am  young  and 
laugh  with  that  wonderful  discouraging  and 
yet  encouraging  laugh  of  yours  and  tell  me 
to  be  sensible,  but  it  is  too  late  for  that. 
Listen,  Mary,  oh,  that  wonderful  name!  I 
breathe  it  as  I  would  a  prayer.  Darling,  won't 
you  leave  all  that  light  and  falseness;  you 
don't  belong  in  it;  won't  you  marry  me  and 
come  away  with  me?  I  know  I  am  young, 
but  I  will  make  you  happy.  Mary,  be  kind; 
for  I  cannot  live  without  you. 

Your, 

JACK. 


Her  Answer 

WEDNESDAY 
DEAR  FOOLISH  BOY: 

I  am  going  to  be  kind  to  you  by  being  a  bit 
brutal.  First  of  all,  I  do  not  love  you,  and 
that's  an  item  in  itself.  You  are  very  good- 
looking,  and  therefore  I  enjoyed  looking  at 
you  and  finding  out  what  you  were  like.  You 
are  nineteen;  I  am  twenty- four.  You  will 
have  millions  if  you  marry  some  nice  girl  that 
your  father  approves  of,  and  you  will  bring 
her  to  see  me  act  and  she  will  say,  "I  wonder 
what  she  is  like  off  the  stage."  Then  you  will 
be  so  ashamed  of  having  written  me  as  you 
have,  that  you  will  hesitate  and  then  say,  "I 
wonder;  actresses  are  all  sort  of  queer." 
Good-bye,  dear  boy;  think  of  me  as  part  of 
your  college  education. 

MARY  MARSDEN. 

p.  s. — Please  do  not  try  to  see  me  again. 


He  Writes  Again 

FRIDAY 


DEAREST  : 


How  could  you  write  such  a  cold,  heartless, 
commercial  letter?  It  is  not  a  bit  like  you. 
You  don't  know  me.  I  could  not  love  anyone 
as  I  do  you.  You  are  right;  father  has  the 
girl  all  picked  out  that  he  wants  me  to  marry — 
the  daughter  of  his  partner  in  business.  She 
is  pretty  and  I  like  her,  but  love  her — never. 
Oh,  I  am  so  miserable  I  can't  sleep  nights,  but 
I  shall  respect  your  wishes  not  to  see  you  again 
and  suffer. 

Thank  God  you  did  not  ask  me  to  forget 
you,  for  that  is  impossible.  Farewell,  darling. 

Your, 

JACK. 


Clipping  From  "Town  Topics" 
Two  months  later 

I  have  noticed  young  Jack  Wilkins  and 
little  Freda  Milton  are  inseparable  lately.  I 
predicted  that  match,  and  now  as  the  Wilkins 
family  and  the  Milton  family  are  sailing  to 
gether  on  the  Lusitania  to-morrow,  I  guess 
I  am,  as  usual,  right. 

"Youth  forgives  easily,  but 
forgets   even   more  easily." 


1 


The   Lawyer 


His  First  Letter 


6 1  WALL  STREET 


DEAR  Miss  MARSDEN  : 


I  read  in  to-day's  Herald  that  you  are  hav 
ing  some  trouble  with  your  contracts.  I  do 
not  wish  to  seem  impertinent  in  this  matter, 
but  I  have  read  the  case  and  am  interested. 
If  you  have  no  personal  attorney,  I  should 
be  pleased  to  handle  this  case  for  you.  I  know 
this  is  unusual,  but  I  am  very  much  interested. 
Sincerely, 

WILLIAM  G.  WILLOUGHBY. 


ii 


Her  Reply 


DEAR  MR.  WILLOUGHBY  : 


TUESDAY 


Your  kind  note  received.    Will  you  call  and 
see  me   Thursday  afternoon?     I   deeply  ap 
preciate  your  interest  in  my  case. 
Sincerely, 

MARY   MARSDEN. 


12 


Another  Letter 
Three  weeks  later 

6 1  WALL  STREET 
DEAR  LITTLE  WOMAN  : 

Don't  you  be  a  bit  worried  now.  I  am 
going  to  win  for  you.  I  thought  last  night 
that  you  looked  rather  pale  and  tired.  Please, 
dear  Girl,  do  not  worry.  Depend  upon  me, 
for  you  know  that  I  live  to  please  and  help 
you. 

WILLIAM  WILLOUGHBY. 


Her  Answer 


WEDNESDAY 


DEAR  BIG  MAN  : 


I  will  not  worry  any  more,  for  I  have  per 
fect  confidence  in  your  powers,  and  your  say 
ing  that  you  live  to  please  me  makes  me  very 
happy.  I  may  honestly  say  that  if  this  is 
true,  you  do  not  live  in  vain. 

Always  your  friend, 

MARY  MARSDEN. 


Another 

Two  weeks  later 

61  WALL  STREET 

SWEETEST  OF  ALL  LITTLE  WOMEN  : 

i 

When  I  left  you  last  night  I  was  very  un 
happy  because  I  had  not  accomplished  what 
I  started  out  to  do.  I  am  very  brave  in  a 
court  room,  but  very  much  of  a  coward  when 
the  jury  consists  of  two  large  brown  eyes  that 
I  love  to  death.  I  cannot  face  them,  for  I 
don't  want  to  see  them  if  they  should  frown ; 
so  I  write  my  plea.  You  have  shown  me  that 
you  liked  me  by  being  with  me,  for  as  you 
often  say,  "Women  who  earn  their  own  way 
don't  have  to  be  where  they  don't  want  to," 
but  do  you  care  for  me  enough  to  be  with  me 
always?  I  frankly  admit  that  I  cannot  be 
satisfied  to  be  your  lawyer  and  friend.  I  love 
you  too  much.  Think  it  over,  dear.  I  love 
you  madly — too  madly  to  tell  you  so  myself 
without  raving.  So  that  is  why  I  write  to 
you.  This  means  everything  to  me;  in  fact, 
the  thought  of  life  without  you  is  horrible. 
Always, 

YOUR  BIG  MAN. 
15 


Her  Answer 


17  EAST  57x11  STREET 


DEAR  BIG  MAN  : 


I  am  so  sorry  it  cannot  be.  I  like  you,  oh 
so  much ;  too  much  to  fool  you  by  saying 
wait  and  maybe  I  can  care;  for  I  know  that 
I  could  never  care  in  the  way  I  want  to  when 
I  take  the  marriage  vow.  There  are  three 
kinds  of  love — respectful  love,  companionable 
love  and  passionate  love.  They  marry  on  any 
one  of  them,  but  I  want  all  three.  The  first 
I  have  for  you;  the  second  I  am  beginning 
to  have  by  constant  association  with  such  a 
real  "Big  Man";  but  the  third  could  never 
come,  because  its  place  is  first  and  the  others 
follow.  I  won't  say,  "Forget  me,"  for  I 
should  hate  you  to  do  so,  but  know  that  I 
shall  always  think  of  our  friendship  as  one 
of  the  nice  things  in  my  life. 

MARY. 


16 


His  Farewell 


6 1  WALL  STREET 


LITTLE  WOMAN  : 


I  understand  and  thank  you  for  giving  me 
a  square  deal.  I  am  not  going  to  see  you 
again,  for  it  would  only  mean  strained  con 
versation,  and  I  want  to  always  think  of  our 
associations  as  being  at  least  natural.  I  am 
sailing  to-morrow  for  South  America  on  a 
big  railroad  case.  Good-bye,  dearest.  I  love 
you.  That's  all. 

WILL. 


Announcement,  Paris  "Herald" 
Six  months  later 

CHILI,  Oct.  7. —  The  engagement  of 
Sefiorita  Dolores  Valaquez,  the  daughter  of 
Senor  Rodriguez  Valaquez,  is  announced. 
The  prospective  bridegroom  is  an  American 
lawyer,  William  G.  Willoughby,  who  came 
down  here  a  few  months  ago  to  settle  up  the 
affairs  of  the  Central  Railroad.  Sefiorita 
Valaquez  is  called  the  "Belle  of  Chili,"  be 
sides  being  an  heiress  in  her  own  right. 

"A  man,  a  maid,  and  money. 
Answer,       i||     Matrimony." 


The   Composer 


The    Beginning 


LONDON,  ENGLAND 


MARY  DEAREST  : 


This  will  introduce  Mr.  Raymond  Tourney. 
He  is  a  dear  and  I  know  you  will  love  him. 
He  is  new  in  America,  so  treat  him  kindly. 
A  toi. 

ETHEL. 

p.  s. — I  almost  forgot  to  say  that  he  is  a 
wonderful  composer  and  he  plays  divinely. 


21 


Her  Note  to  Him  After  Their  First 
Meeting 

17  EAST  57TH  STREET 
DEAR  MR.  TOURNEY: 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  meet 
ing  you  and  how  your  music  has  consumed 
me  with  admiration.  I  want  to  introduce  you 
to  some  of  my  friends,  as  I  know  what  it  is 
to  be  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  Will  you 
dine  with  me  this  Sunday  at  7 130  ? 
Cordially, 

MARY  MARSDEN. 


22 


His  Acceptance 


WEDNESDAY 


DEAR  LADY: 


There  is  no  power  that  could  keep  me  from 
your  side  but  your  own  command.  That  you 
like  my  music  gives  me  new  life,  and  I  have 
recompense  for  all  my  work.  Au  plaisir  de 
vous  voir. 

ROBERT  TOURNEY. 


Six  Months  Later 

MONDAY 

MY  LADY  OF  DREAMS,  to  whom  I  owe  all  the 
happiness  I  have  known  in  life,  good-bye : 

My  dreams  are  ended  and  my  aircastles 
crumbling  and  falling  about  my  head.  Dear 
old  mother  always  urged  me  to  fall  in 
love  with  a  good  woman,  and  that  it  would 
help  me  in  every  way.  Well,  I  have  done  it, 
as  you  well  know,  and  with  my  usual  clever 
ness,  I  have  overdone  it.  I  have  fallen  in 
love  with  a  madonna,  so  far  beyond  my  reach 
that  the  light  blinds  me  when  I  look  up  to 
my  desire.  Mary,  love  of  all  that  is  good  in 
my  soul,  forgive  me  for  being  a  failure.  I'm 
going  back  home,  having  failed  in  everything. 
But  I  have  known  you,  have  lived  on  your 
smiles  and  existed  on  the  hope  of  seeing  you 
again.  All  that  is  finished.  Mary,  listen  to 
me ;  my  boat  sails  day  after  to-morrow  morn 
ing  at  ten.  If  you  care  for  me  at  all  in  the 
way  you  know  I  worship  you,  send  me  a 
line  and  I  will  go  home  and  work,  work,  work 
until  I  can  come  back  a  success.  All  I  need 

24 


is  your  blessing.  Oh,  dearest,  please  tell  me 
that  I  did  hear  a  tender  note  in  your  voice 
when  you  called  me  your  Music  Man. 

Adieu,  my  darling,  help  me  to  be  worthy 
of  you  if  you  want  me. 

ROBERT. 
S.  S.  Lapland. 


Her  Letter  to   the  Ship 

MY  Music  MAN  : 

You  were  right;  you  did  hear  tenderness 
in  my  voice  when  I  called  you  My  Music 
Man,  for  my  heart  is  full  of  tenderness  for 
you.  I  have  realized  what  you  were  going 
through,  seeing  other  people  succeed,  who 
don't  deserve  it  while  you  struggle  on;  and 
oh,  dear  Rob,  I  am  so  proud  of  you  for  break 
ing  away  like  this  without  fuss,  just  because 
you  knew  it  had  to  come.  I  am  very  fond 
of  you,  dear,  and  I  think  the  only  thing  that 
has  kept  me  from  loving  you  really  has  been 
your  lack  of  success.  I  have  worked  so  hard 
to  get  mine  that  I  cannot  respect  those  who 
don't  try.  Go  home  and  work,  dear,  work, 
and  let  me  hear  how  you  get  on.  I  shall  not 
marry  for  two  years  at  least,  so  if  that  is  any 
help  and  with  it  the  blessing  you  ask  for,  only 
a  hundred  times  more.  Adieu, 

MARY. 


26 


His  Letter 

Two  months  later 

LONDON 
MY  MADONNA  : 

Joy  fills  my  heart.  My  opera — no,  our 
opera — is,  as  you  know  by  now,  an  enormous 
success.  All  the  papers  compare  it  with  "The 
Mikado,"  and  on  Monday  when  they  called 
for  us  to  make  speeches,  mine  was,  "Mary  did 
it  all.  I  owe  it  all  to  Mary."  It  seemed  I 
just  must  say  it  to  them,  but  I  only  bowed 
and  murmured  the  dear  old  standby,  "I  thank 
you !"  Now,  darling,  listen,  in  a  month  I  am 
coming  over  to  you,  and  oh,  Mary  mine,  be 
merciful.  If  you  do  not  love  me,  it  is  all  for 
nothing,  for  I  shall  still  have  failed  in  every 
thing  that  counts.  I  don't  see  how  I  have 
lived  without  the  music  of  your  voice,  but  it 
is  in  every  strain  of  this  new  work  of  mine. 
Mary  is  the  theme,  the  plot,  and  the  success 
of  it.  I  shall  not  let  you  know  when  I  arrive 
— I  will  just  arrive,  and  oh,  God  in  Heaven, 
send  me  not  in  vain. 

All  my  love, 

ROB. 

27 


Excerpt  From  Mary's  Diary 
Three  weeks  later 

Rob  will  be  here  any  day  now,  and  I  am 
nearly  crazy.  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do, 
for  I  know  now  that  it  is  not  love  of  him, 
but  of  his  wonderful  music ;  for  as  I  look  back 
on  the  hours  we  spent  together  I  remember 
I  would  urge  him  to  play  some  wonderful  soul 
melody  so  that  I  might  dream  of  some  one 
else  that  I  had  never  seen.  It  must  have  been 
my  mother's  instinct  that  made  me  give  him 
hope  to  try  and  make  him  become  great.  But 
I  have  done  a  terrible  thing,  for  I  do  not  even 
think  of  seeing  him  with  joy — only  to  hear 
his  music.  Oh,  I  am  miserable ! 


28 


Clipping  From  New   York   "World" 
Three  weeks  later 

Among  the  hundreds  of  brave  men  who 
stood  back  to  say,  "Women  and  children 
first,"  in  the  greatest  of  all  marine  disasters 
was  the  young  composer  of  'The  Firefly," 
which  is  now  the  biggest  success  in  London — 
Mr.  Robert  Tourney.  When  last  seen  by 
friends  he  was  handing  a  little  girl  into  a 
lifeboat.  Mr.  Tourney  was  considered  the 
coming  man  in  musical  circles,  and  what 
makes  it  doubly  sad  is  the  fact  that  he  was 
coming  to  America  to  be  married. 

"Truly   it   is   said,   'We   must 
die  to  be  really  appreciated' " 


29 


The  Actor 


His  First  Letter  After   They  Parted 

PITTSBURGH 
MARIA  Mio: 

How  in  the  name  of  all  the  syndicate  I  can 
ever  finish  the  season  with  this  comic  blonde 
that  has  dared  to  take  the  part  made  lovely 
by  you,  I  don't  know.  You  know  how  you 
feel  when  you're  playing  a  week  in  Brooklyn 
and  you  think  of  the  trip  so  much  that  by 
the  time  you  get  to  the  theater  you're  not  fit 
company  for  a  dramatic  critic — well,  that's 
the  way  I  feel  about  her.  I  think  of  how 
awful  it  is  all  day,  and  at  night — well,  it's 
hell,  that's  all.  I  suppose  she's  all  right,  poor 
little  pinhead;  and  anyone  who  played  your 
part  would  get  the  same  from  me,  for  they 
certainly  did  break  the  model  and  stopped  re 
production  after  they  fashioned  you,  Maria, 
Amorcita  de  mavita.  How  about  you,  are  you 
happy?  I  hope  so.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
dearest,  but  I  hate  to  think  of  anyone  else 
playing  opposite  you.  Do  write  and  tell  me 
that  you  don't  like  to  have  him  touch  you, 
for  I  lie  awake  nights  hating  his  soul — the 
swine.  I  wax  wrathful  so  I  will  cease  and 

33 


get  me  to  a  hash-house  for  face-feeding  pur 
poses.     Good-bye,  dear, 

Je  t'aime 

Ich  Hebe  dich 

Y6  te  amo 

lo  t'amo 

and 

I  love  you, 


DAVE. 


Some  linguist,  eh,  what? 


34 


Her  Answer 

DAVE  DEAR: 

Your  letter  came,  bringing  with  it  bright 
ness  and  relief  like  the  entr'acte  brings  to 
an  Ibsen  play.  You  will  never  know  how 
much  I  miss  you,  dear  boy;  half  the  sunshine 
is  gone  since  we  can  no  longer  have  our 
giggling  fests.  I  miss  your  good  looks,  your 
nice  voice  and  your  wonderful  figure,  but  most 
of  all,  your  sense  of  humor.  As  for  this 
person  who  is  playing  with  me,  I  will  not 
say  I  hate  to  have  him  touch  me,  but  worse, 
I  don't  even  know  when  he  does  touch  me, 
so  nearly  nothing  is  he.  Oh,  Dave,  I  sigh  for 
our  old  days  on  the  road,  the  bum  hotels,  the 
long  walks,  the  moving  picture  shows — all  of 
it.  Of  course,  I  have  made  a  "hit,"  but  you 
can't  read  your  press  notices  all  the  time. 
Write  me  often.  You  are  a  human  cocktail 
when  it  comes  to  a  pick-me-up. 

MARIO. 


35 


Another  Letter 

MARIO  ADORABLE  : 

Your  letter  gave  me  the  blues — God  knows 
why — but  there  seemed  to  be  an  unhappy 
undercurrent  to  it.  Am  I  right?  And  then, 
on  the  other  hand,  you  made  me  so  happy 
and  gave  me  at  least  one  night's  sleep  by  your 
description  of  said  leading  man.  Listen, 
Mario,  I  know  I  am  taking  a  long  chance 
and  disobeying  orders,  but  you  can't  give  me 
a  hard  look  from  those  wonderful  almond 
eyes  of  yours ;  so  here  goes :  Ever  since  the 
first  night  I  told  you  how  I  loved  you,  and 
you  said  if  I  mentioned  it  again  we  could 
not  be  together,  I  have  done  a  first-class 
imitation  of  a  deaf  and  dumb  college,  but 
now  it's  all  off.  I'm  mad  about  you  now,  just 
as  I  was  the  first  day  you  blew  in  to  rehearsal, 
and  I  shall  always  be.  Remember  no  matter 
what  I  do  you  will  know  I  still  love  you. 
Will  you  marry  me  ?  I  remember  hearing  you 
say  that  you  would  never  marry  an  actor. 
Well,  I  will  quit  acting — I  will  do  anything 
you  say.  Mario,  you  are  nearly  twenty-five 
and  I  am  nearly  thirty.  Let's  try  it  when 

36 


the  season  closes.  I've  saved  enough  this 
year  to  take  you  away  somewhere  and  love 
you  to  death.  I  won't  sleep  again  until  I 
get  an  answer,  so  please  hurry.  Original  of 
that  wonderful  word,  Sweetheart,  tell  me. 

DAVE. 


37 


Her  Answer 

I've  been  crying  for  an  hour,  Dave,  over 
your  letter.  The  sweetness  and  frankness  of 
it  brought  you  right  into  the  room  with  your 
blue  eyes  twinkling.  Dave,  dear,  we  can't 
do  it ;  we  are  too  much  alike — we  would  laugh 
ourselves  along  for  a  year  and  then  awaken 
to  the  realization  that  there  must  be  serious 
talks  as  well  as  giggling  fests  to  make  up  the 
day.  I  could  not  ask  you  to  give  up  acting. 
You  are  far  too  good  at  it,  and  I  could  not 
give  it  up  yet.  If  we  both  went  on  acting 
it  would  be  the  same  old  story — together  a 
while  and  then  apart,  and  nothing  but  a  certifi 
cate  to  hang  over  our  heads.  Oh,  no,  dear; 
I  am  too  fond  of  you  for  that.  I  am,  as  you 
say,  not  so  very  happy.  I  don't  know  what 
it  is,  but  it's  something.  I  would  like  nothing 
better  than  to  go  away  with  you  and  be  loved 
to  death  as  you  put  it,  but  when  fall  comes 
and  I  am  to  be  starred,  and  they  say  keep 

38 


your  marriage  a  secret,  etc.— oh,  no,  it  can't 
be  done,  dear,  but  I  thank  you  for  the  honor 
you  have  done  me,  and  I  shall  always  think 
of  you  as  a  bright  spot  in  what  seems  at 
present  a  rather  dark  stage  setting. 

Always, 

MARIO. 


39 


His  Last  Letter 

MARIO  : 

I  know  how  you  hate  arguments,  and  I 
also  know  that  they  are  of  no  avail  when  you 
have  decided,  so  I  bow  to  your  superior  wis 
dom,  but  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you; 
the  silence  is  broken ;  I  am  no  longer  dumb, 
and  if  you  were  here  now,  my  darling,  instead 
of  kissing  your  long  slender  fingers  as  used 
to  be  your  ladyship's  command,  I  would  take 
you  in  my  arms  and  crush  you  until  you  cried 
for  mercy.  I'm  raving.  Don't  mind  me,  dear. 
I  have  not  slept  for  days.  That's  enough. 
Good-bye,  love,  and  all  that's  dear,  good 
bye 

I  started  to  make  that  a  hysterical  exit,  but 
took  a  drink  and  went  out  into  the  cool  night 
40 


air  for  an  hour  and  I  have  come  back  sane. 
They  are  taking  this  piece  to  London  next 
week  and  want  me  to  go.  Have  raised  me 
$50,  so  I'm  going.  It  may  mean  something 
and  God  knows  I  need  something  now.  Dear, 
don't  think  I  blame  you.  All  men  are  fools, 
but  all  men  in  love  are  damned  fools,  and  I 
am  the  worst  of  all. 

Good-bye, 

DAVE. 


Letter  Received 

months  later 


LONDON 
MARY  DEAREST: 

I've  been  meaning  to  write  to  you  for  ages, 
but  I've  been  rushed  to  death.  The  summer 
season  was  too  wonderful.  Why  didn't  you 
come  over?  So  you're  a  star  now;  that's 
splendid.  I'm  so  happy  for  you.  You  must 
come  over  here  and  conquer  les  anglais  —  a 
success  over  here  means  so  much.  By  the 
way,  is  this  Mr.  David  Manners,  who  has 
made  such  a  hit  over  here,  the  man  that  used 
to  play  with  you?  He  is  the  talk  of  town 
and  is  asked  everywhere.  His  engagement 
to  the  Hon.  Evelyn  Waring  was  announced 
last  week;  rather  funny,  an  actor  marrying 
a  title.  It's  usually  the  other  way  round. 
Write  me  some  news,  dear.  I  pine  to  hear 
from  you. 

As  ever  yours, 

ETHEL. 

"There  never  was  a  heart  so 
badly     broken     but     that     it 
could  be  mended  by  flattery." 
42 


The   Platonic   Friend 


Letter    One 

CHICAGO 
DEAR  LITTLE  BUD: 

My,  it  was  great  seeing  you  again  and  just 
talking  our  ears  off!     You're  a  wonder  and 
you  know  your  big  Bud  is  the  first  one  to 
want  to  see  you  get  up.     Why,  when  I  saw 
your  name  in   front  of  that  big  theater  in 
electric    letters    I    nearly   did   a    funny    fall. 
Rather  different  from  the  first  time  I  met  you 
in  Milwaukee  five  years  ago.     What  a  kid 
you  were — just  starting — and  do  you  remem 
ber  the  night  we  swore  to  always  be  pals, 
nothing  more,  and  we  shook  hands  on  it  and 
you  took  a  drink  of  straight  whiskey  to  prove 
that  you  were  a  brother  to  me.    Well,  this  is 
all  to  lead  up  to  the  following:     Bud,  dear, 
I've  been  kidding  myself,  I'm  afraid.     This 

45 


last  time  I  had  a  very  hard  struggle  to  keep 
from  holding  your  hand  each  time  we  met  or 
said  good-bye,  and  many  other  indications. 
A  fellow  don't  think  of  his  brother's  hand  as 
being  so  lovely  and  slender  and  her  mouth  as 
being  so  red  and — well,  anyway,  Bud,  write  me 
a  line  and  tell  me  you  don't  mind  if  I  don't 
exactly  think  of  you  as  I  did  when  you  were 
twenty. 

Your  old 

BUD. 


Her  Answer 

DEAR  OLD  BUD: 

To  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  you  may 
have  been  kidding  yourself,  but  I  have  not; 
for  though  I  may  have  at  the  age  of  nineteen 
firmly  believed  that  there  was  such  a  thing 
as  platonic  friendship  for  men  and  women, 
I  do  not  believe  it  now.  When  a  man  is  a 
brother  to  a  woman  who  is  in  the  least  at 
tractive,  there  is  usually  a  good  reason,  and 
it  is  generally  that  he  wants  the  privilege  of 
patting  her  hand  if  he  feels  like  it  or  squeez 
ing  her  arm  in  good  fellowship,  and  last  but 
not  least,  he  gets  her  confidence  as  much  as 
a  man  can  ever  get  the  confidence  of  a  woman. 
With  the  woman,  if  the  victim  is  the  type 
who  doesn't  like  soft  women,  she  will  say  to 
herself,  "We  will  start  by  being  good  pals. 
I  will  light  a  cigarette  for  him,  play  for  him 
while  he  sits  and  doesn't  feel  that  he  has  to 

47 


make  love  to  me,"  and  many  little  seductive 
plans  are  woven  thereupon.  The  woman 
knows  that  the  man  is  but  human  and  that 
some  day  when  they're  fooling  about,  wres 
tling  over  some  book  that  she  is  reading  and 
he  tries  to  take  from  her  (the  old  game) 
he  will  hurt  his  little  pal — and  then  the 
big  scene  comes.  It's  always  the  same;  at 
least  I  have  found  it  so.  I  do  say  it  can  be 
honest  on  one  side,  but  the  other  side  is  play 
acting.  This  is  all  by  way  of  leading  up  to 
the  following :  I  expect  you  to  hold  my  hand 
when  we  meet  and  I  want  you  to  admire  my 
mouth  and  I  know  you  have  done  both  ever 
since  we  met.  You  have  been  honest.  I  have 
been  play-acting.  I  am  a  woman  and  play 
acting  is  our  privilege.  Write  soon  to 

LITTLE  BUD. 


Another  Letter 


CHICAGO 


DARLING  GIRL: 


Away  with  all  the  "Bud"  idea.  I  am  awake 
at  last.  Will  you  marry  me?  I  can  give  you 
everything  that  you  want.  We  are  com 
panionable  and  all  that.  What  do  you  say? 
Of  course,  as  usual,  you  are  right;  I  have 
always  loved  you  and  you  know  it.  Give  me 
a  chance,  little  girl,  and  I'll  make  good. 

Yours, 

FRANK. 


49 


Her  Answer 


DEAR  FRANK: 


Thanks  so  much  for  your  kind  offer.  You 
say,  "Will  you  marry  me,"  as  if  you  were 
saying,  ''Will  you  lunch  with  me  on  Tuesday," 
and  I  admire  your  sang  froid.  I  agree  you 
could  give  me  everything  that  I  have,  and  we 
get  along  well,  but  one  thing  you  forgot  to 
ask,  "Do  I  love  you?"  So  I  have  asked  my 
self  for  you,  and  have  answered  "No."  I 
admire  you  a  lot,  but  also  admire  my  work, 
so  until  I  can  do  more  than  admire  a  man, 
I  shall  not  give  the  work  up.  You  will  make 
some  woman  a  good  husband,  but  when  the 
right  woman  comes  she  won't  have  to  tell  you 
that  you  love  her,  as  I  did. 

Always  your  friend, 

LITTLE  BUD. 


Letter  From  Girl  Friend  in   Chicago 

Three  months  later 

DEAR  OLD  MARY: 

Did  you  hear  the  big  news?  Our  mutual 
friend  Frank  J.  has  gone,  went  and  done  it. 
Handed  out  the  certificate,  and  in  such  a 
hurry,  too.  Don't  know  whether  you  know 
the  real  dope  on  the  case,  but  I  got  it  from 
a  friend  of  the  blushing  (dry  rouge)  bride. 
She  was  in  the  chorus  of  'The  Girl  from 
Home."  He  sat  down  front  one  night,  sent 
her  a  note,  took  her  out  to  supper  and  one 
week  later  signed  her  up  for  life — maybe. 
Chicago  speed — eh,  what?  She  is  a  pretty 
little  thing  of  the  don't-tell-mother  type  and 
had  only  been  on  four  weeks — came  from 
some  rube  town  in  Illinois,  but  she  has  for-. 

51 


gotten  that  by  now,  as  they  have  sailed  for 
an  Egyptian  honeymoon.  How  are  you,  old 
thing?  I'm  bored  to  tears,  and  if  I  saw  an 
attractive  man  he  would  not  stand  as  much 
chance  of  getting  away  as  the  leading  lady's 
understudy  has  of  playing  her  part ;  and  that's 
some  small  chance,  believe  me.  Write  to  me, 
stingy. 

Always, 


JANE. 


"Good,  true  friends  sel 
dom  marry;  they  know  too 
much  about  one  another." 


The   Millionaire 


Note,  with    Flowers 

UNION  LEAGUE  CLUB 
DEAR  Miss  MARSDEN  : 

The  other  evening  at  dinner  you  very  kindly 
told  me  I  might  call.  I  have  thought  long 
before  inflicting  myself  upon  you,  as  I  sup 
pose  you  are  kind-hearted  and  were  merely 
being  kind  to  an  "old  gent,"  but  if  so,  won't 
you  please  do  it  again?  I  am  seeing  your 
play  to-night,  and  want  to  know  if  you  won't 
come  for  a  bite  of  supper  with  me?  Bring 
anyone  you  like  and  as  many.  All  I  ask  is 
the  brightness  of  your  smile. 
Sincerely, 

JOHN  D.  WAINRIGHT. 


Her  Response 

DEAR  MR.  WAINRIGHT  : 

I  shall  be  charmed.  It  has  been  said  that 
I  am  kind-hearted,  but  believe  me,  not  to  the 
extent  you  give  me  credit  for.  I  asked  you 
to  call  because  you  are  very  interesting,  and 
I  enjoyed  talking  to  you  of  things  other  than 
my  art.  So,  for  the  same  reason,  I  shall  come 
to  supper  with  you,  alone,  if  you  don't  mind. 

MARY  MARSDEN. 


His  Letter 
Two  months  later 

S.  S.  Baltic 
DEAR  MARY: 

I  have  waited  until  I  got  on  the  ship  and 
safely  away  before  writing  the  following,  as 
I  did  not  want  to  see  you  smile  at  an  old 
man's  foolishness.  In  the  first  place,  I  want 
to  thank  you  with  all  my  fifty-eight-year-old 
heart  for  the  happy  hours  I  have  spent  in 
your  company.  They  say  we  love  really  but 
once.  I  do  not  believe  it.  For  I  know  that 
I  loved  my  wife  devotedly.  And  my  great 
grief  in  life  has  been  that  when  she  was  taken 
from  me  she  left  no  children  for  me  to  love, 
for  her  sake,  if  not  for  their  own.  Now, 
I  know  I  love  you  fondly  and  truly.  The 
world  would  say,  "Poor  old  fool,"  but  I  say, 
"Lucky  old  dog,"  to  be  able  at  fifty-eight  to 
love  as  I  do;  so  that  I  am  only  really  happy 
when  with  you,  not  necessarily  talking  to  you, 
but  just  in  your  presence.  This  is  the  real 
reason  of  my  trip  abroad.  I  realized  that  in 
a  few  more  weeks  I  should  have  become  a 

57 


burden;  for  I  know  that  your  only  interest 
in  me  has  been  that  I  talk  to  you  of  the  world 
and  its  work  and  not  of  you  and  your  work. 
That  is  why  you  spent  as  much  time  with 
me,  and  I  know  it.  It  seems  rather  funny 
for  an  old  fool  to  be  taking  a  trip  as  a  sort 
of  a  cure  for  an  affaire  du  coeur,  but  I  am 
the  living  proof  that  it  can  be  done.  Dear 
girl,  let  me  hear  from  you,  and  if  at  any  time 
you  tire  of  your  work  and  would  like  a  home 
and  everything  that  that  much  abused  but 
utterly  necessary  thing,  money,  can  buy,  re 
member  that  I  wait  with  open  arms  for  you. 
Your  servant, 

JOHN  D.  WAINWRIGHT. 


Her  Answer 


DEAR  J.  D. : 


I  cannot  tell  you  how  honored  I  am  that 
you  should  think  of  me  as  you  do,  and  if  I 
have  really  given  you  any  happiness  it  is 
nothing  compared  to  that  which  you  have 
given  me.  I  miss  you  dreadfully  and  shall, 
as  you  say,  let  you  hear  from  me  often.  I 
only  wish  that  I  were  tired  and  could  give 
up  my  work  and  accept  all  that  you  honor 
me  by  offering,  but  I  love  my  work  and  could 
not  give  it  up  unless  it  was  for  something  I 
loved  a  great  deal  more.  That  something  I 
have  not  yet  seen,  and  so  far,  don't  believe 
exists.  Write  me  often  and  tell  me  of  your 
trip. 

Always, 

MARY. 


59 


Clipping  From  New  York  Paper 
Three  months  later 

The  will  of  the  late  John  D.  Wainright  was 
probated  to-day.  He  leaves  practically  every 
thing  to  his  younger  brother,  William  Wain- 
right,  with  a  few  bequests  to  his  friends  and 
faithful  servants.  His  will  bequeaths  $10,000 
to  Mary  Marsden,  the  actress,  as  a  token  of 
his  love  and  esteem  for  one  of  God's  own 
good  women.  The  chauffeur  who  was  driving 
the  car  which  struck  Mr.  Wainright,  causing 
his  instant  death,  has  been  acquitted.  The 
case  came  up  a  week  ago  in  London  and  the 
witnesses  swore  that  the  man  was  not  to 
blame.  The  world  loses  one  of  its  great  men 
by  this  accident. 

"And  yet  there  are  those 
poor  souls  that  say  mon 
ey  will  buy  anything." 


60 


The   Literary  Man 


The  First  Note 

DEAR  Miss  MARSDEN  : 

I  am  taking  the  liberty  of  sending  you  my 
latest  book,  so  late,  in  fact,  that  this  is  a  proof 
copy.  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  it  as  much  as 
you  assured  me  that  you  have  enjoyed  my 
other  mind  spasms.  You  see,  if  you  were  not 
sincere,  you  are  being  punished,  for  out  of 
sheer  politeness  you  will  have  to  read  this 
and  give  me  your  opinion  of  it.  The  pub 
lishers  await  your  verdict — saying  nothing  of 
the  perpetrator. 

HUDSON  HOLMES. 


Her  Answer 

DEAR  MR.  HOLMES  : 

"The  Island  of  Dreams"  is  really  too  won 
derful.  You  may  tell  the  publishers  that  I 
enjoyed  it  more  than  anything  I've  read  in 
years.  Won't  you  come  in  to  tea  with  me 
Friday  and  let  me  tell  you  how  really  clever 
you  are  ?  But  perhaps  you  have  already  been 
told.  However,  come  anyway,  if  you  can,  and 
allow  me  to  join  the  throng  in  burning  incense 
at  your  most  literary  feet. 

MARY  MARSDEN. 


His  Acceptance 

SWEETEST  LADY: 

With  all  the  speed  that  my  literary  feet  are 
capable  of  I  shall  come  to  you  on  Friday.  The 
hours  will  drag  along  like  unto  the  dialogue  of 
a  musical  comedy  until  that  most  blessed  day. 
I  bow. 

Your  most  humble 

HUDSON  HOLMES. 


Another  Letter  Two  Weeks  Later 

FLOWER  IN  THE  DESERT  OF  MY  LIFE: 

Examine  carefully  my  heart,  which,  two 
weeks  ago,  you  took  from  me,  and  see  if  it 
is  not  broken.  The  gods  have  carefully 
blocked  the  pathway  of  roses  on  which  I  tread 
when  coming  to  you  with  obstacles  which  I 
cannot  overcome.  I  must  leave  town  for 
two  or  three  days.  My  existence  without 
your  exquisite  self  will  be  like  a  Scotch  and 
soda  sans  Scotch,  but  the  gods  decree,  and, 
being  merely  mortal,  I  obey.  Loveliness,  I 
cannot,  even  though  I  am  a  near  writer  of 
fiction,  write  down  my  love  for  you,  I  suppose, 
because  my  love  is  not  fiction.  In  these  last 
two  weeks  I  have  had  my  heaven,  and,  if  I 
never  have  more,  I  can  sigh  happily  and  think 
of  the  little  suppers,  lunches,  dinners,  talks 
and  walks  with  you.  Ange  supreme,  I  kiss 
your  eyes  and  fly  but  to  return  and  kiss  them 
once  again. 

Ever  thine, 

H.  H. 
66 


Letter  Received  Two  Days  Later 

MARY  MARSDEN  : 

If  you  care  at  all  about  doing  what's  right, 
do  not  see  H.  H.  again.  His  poor  young  wife, 
who  is  ill  at  the  home  of  her  mother  in  the 
little  town  where  he  met,  loved  and  married 
her,  adores  him,  and  if  you  come  between 
them  you  will  suffer. 

A  FRIEND. 

p.  s. — He  is  with  her  now.  Be  fair.  Give 
him  up  and  let  him  stay  there. 


Her  Letter  To  Him  Next  Day 

I  have  read  in  your  own  novels  of  men  of 
your  type,  but  I  fondly  believed  they  were 
fiction.  I  would  not  have  believed  a  thing 
so  low  could  live  in  such  a  nice  world.  I,  too, 
must  be  low  to  have  known  you  and  have 
thought  I  loved  you.  It  was  not  you,  it  was 
your  brain.  And  where  is  the  fairness  in 
your  being  allowed  to  have  that  brain?  I  do 
not  need  to  explain.  You  know  what  has 
happened.  Not  for  a  long  time  shall  I  regain 
my  self-respect.  How  the  gods  must  have 
laughed  when  you  blamed  them  for  the  ob 
stacles  that  blocked  your  way  to  me,  obstacles 
put  in  the  path  by  your  own  selfish  desires. 
I  could  go  on,  but  why? 

Tout  passe,  tout  lasse,  tout  casse. 

Beg  your  wife  to  forgive  you.  I  can  forget 
you. 

M.  M. 


68 


His  Answer 

To  only  beautiful  women  is  given  the  power 
and  desire  to  be  cruel.  In  your  cruelty  you 
are  supreme.  But  you  cannot  kill  with  your 
poor  little  pen  the  love  that  your  soul  de 
mands.  I  am  low  in  the  dust  before  you,  and 
you  may  trample  upon  me;  but  I  still  love 
you  with  the  same  love  that  made  me  deceive 
you.  They  say  where  there  is  real  love  there 
can  be  no  fear ;  but  love  is  the  father  of  fear. 
I  know.  I  have  never  been  afraid,  but  you 
came,  I  loved  and  I  feared  to  tell  the  truth 
lest  the  frail  bubble  of  happiness  might  burst. 
Five  years  ago  I  went  to  a  little  town  for 
the  summer  to  finish  up  that  book  that  you 
deigned  to  like,  "Ashes  of  Roses."  I  met  this 
young  girl.  She  was  sweet  and  I  married 
her.  We  have  never  had  anything  in  common. 
She  has  never  understood  me.  She  has  loved 
her  child,  and  I  have  loved  my  books.  You 
are  the  only  woman  in  my  life.  We  do  not 
always  marry  the  people  we  love,  or  love  the 
people  we  marry.  If  you  do  not  forgive  me 
I  shall  go  mad.  Be  kind.  I  love  you  so. 

H.  H. 
69 


Her  Reply 

I  should  not  even  answer  you,  but  you  say 
one  or  two  things  that  I  must  reply  to.  Men 
do  not  go  into  country  towns  and  marry  girls 
just  to  give  them  a  trip  to  the  city.  They 
usually  love  them  at  the  time,  or  think  they 
do.  Of  course,  they  tire  of  the  simple  country 
maiden  and  usually  do  as  you  did,  seek  out 
an  actress  who  is  supposed  to  be  worldly,  but 
who,  because  of  all  she  knows,  is  more  simple- 
minded  than  any  dairy  maid.  Half  our  lives 
are  spent  in  getting  a  thing,  and  the  other  half 
in  tiring  of  it.  You  say  you  and  the  poor 
girl  you  married  have  had  nothing  in  common, 
but  you  have  had  a  child.  You  say  she  has 
never  understood  you.  Of  course  she  has 
not,  or  she  never  would  have  married  you. 
Please  do  not  write  me  again,  for  I  shall  not 
open  your  letters.  I  prefer  to  read  your 
books. 

M.  M. 


70 


Clipping    From    N.    Y.    Paper    Two 
Months  Later 

HUDSON   HOLMES   SAILS 

Having  launched  his  latest  book,  "The 
Island  of  Dreams,"  on  the  sea  of  success, 
Mr.  Holmes  and  his  very  pretty  young  wife 
and  their  little  girl,  sailed  to-day  on  the 
Amerika.  They  will  be  gone  about  six 
months.  Most  of  that  time  will  be  spent  in 
Italy,  where  Mr.  Holmes  intends  to  lay  the 
scenes  of  his  new  book.  Mrs.  Holmes  was 
Miss  Margaret  Manning,  so  that  accounts  for 
the  dedication  on  the  fly  leaf  of  the  new  book, 
"To  M.  M.,  my  inspiration." 

"When  some  men  marry  they 
check  their  conscience  at  the 
church  door,  and  in  their  excite 
ment  proceed  to  lose  the  check." 


The   Farmer 


The  Man  from  Home 

SUNNYVALE  FARM 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  GYPSY: 

My  old  name  for  you  does  not  seem  to  fit 
the  successful  Broadway  star,  Mary  Marsden, 
but  I  will  not  be  cheated  out  of  it,  for  I  loved 
you  and  gave  you  that  name,  long  before  New 
York  loved  you  and  gave  you  the  name  of 
"Star."  I  sound  quite  resentful,  don't  I? 
Well,  dear  Gyp,  I  hate  to  be  an  old  country 
kill- joy,  but  I  find  that  I  am  really  jealous 
of  your  success,  and  of  the  thousands  of  men 
who  have  the  right  to  see  you,  hear  you,  and 
admire  you  night  after  night,  while  I,  who 
love  you  for  yourself  and  not  for  your  act 
ing,  have  to  be  content  to  sit  on  my  porch, 
dreaming  of  you  and  hating  everyone  in  the 
world  but  yourself.  I  remember  your  telling 
me  once  that  to  be  jealous  is  human,  to  admit 
it  is  fatal,  and  to  show  it  is  vulgar,  but  I  can 
not  help  it,  dear.  How  I  do  run  on!  Old 
Bessie  has  a  new  calf — a  little  brown  one, 
which,  for  some  unknown  reason,  I  have 
named  Gypsy.  Every  animal  on  the  farm  is 
either  Mary,  Gyp  or  Gypsy,  it  seems  to  me. 

75 


I  have  one  hundred  plymouth  rocks  now  and 
about  fifty  leghorns,  forty- two  little  chicks  in 
the  incubators.  Have  just  finished  a  new 
henhouse  and  am  going  to  personally  white 
wash  it  to-morrow.  The  garden  is  beautiful. 
All  the  pansy  beds  that  you  planted  the  last 
time  you  were  here  are  more  wonderful  than 
ever.  Darling  girl,  I  don't  want  to  complain, 
but  do  you  know  that  you  used  to  write  me 
twice  a  week  and  then  my  share  dropped  to 
once  a  week  and  it  has  slowly  diminished 
until  I  have  not  heard  from  you  in  a  month. 
Please  write  me,  for  you  know  what  it  means 
to  me. 

Always  your  old  farmer, 

FRED. 

p.  s. — Emily  was  over  to-day.  She  says 
your  mother  is  feeling  very  fit  now.  That 
little  sister  of  yours  is  developing  into  a  great 
beauty. 


Her  Answer 

DEAR  OLD  RUBE: 

Do  forgive  me.  I  have  been  meaning  to 
write  every  day,  but  as  you  well  know,  Pro 
crastination  is  my  real  name ;  and  then  I  have 
been  so  busy.  Have  been  overdoing  the  social 
side  of  my  life,  and  am  a  perfect  mental  ruin. 
Sometimes  I  get  so  tired  of  it  all  I  could 
scream  for  help.  I  am  now  at  the  stage  where 
I  hate  this  part  and  every  one  in  the  theater, 
even  the  property  man,  poor  soul,  who  only 
hands  me  the  burnt  sugar,  which  is  the  fatal 
poison  that  I  drink  and  thereby  end  the  tire 
some  play.  I  love  hearing  about  the  farm. 
I  shut  my  eyes  for  a  minute  and  thought  I 
was  back  in  our  orchards.  I  could  feel  my 
self  climbing  that  dear  old  tree,  so  that  I 

77 


could  drop  an  apple  on  your  unsuspecting 
head.  Oh,  it  was  wonderful,  and  just  as  I 
was  about  to  drop  the  apple  that  curse  of 
the  universe,  better  known  as  a  French  maid, 
entered  and  remarked  that  Mademoiselle  must 
not  forget  she  had  to  see  the  gentleman  from 
the  Evening  Journal  at  4:30.  Away  went 
all  my  day  dreams  and,  believe  me,  that  poor 
newspaper  man  must  have  thought  me  an  un 
pleasant  and  unintelligent  little  party.  Write 
me  more  of  the  farm.  I  pine  for  the  cool, 
sweet  air  of  Sunnyvale. 

As  ever, 

GYPSY. 


*f*^*  I '•  I — ' 1      ••MSfrrjf-  i>: 

?s3k 


.>*** 


— «SS£fc%^-^ 
'  •^•-vjaiT^--^. 


His  Reply 


SUNNYVALE. 


DEAREST  GYP: 


The  way  you  signed  your  letter  has  given 
me  cause  for  much  thought,  and  at  the  risk 
of  boring  you,  I  am  going  to  talk  seriously 
to  you.  "As  ever/'  you  say.  What  I  want 
to  know  is,  do  you  really  mean  "as  ever?" 
Do  you  remember  the  night  before  you  left 
home  to  go  on  the  stage  when  you  said,  "I 
love  you  Fred,  but  I  could  never  be  satisfied 
to  marry  and  settle  down  here  with  you  until 
I  have  tried  my  wings.  I  shall  always  love 
you,  and  after  I  have  tried  and  perhaps  failed, 
or  even  if  I  succeed,  then  I  will  come  back  to 
you  and  love  you  and  Sunnyvale  all  the  more, 
after  I  see  something  of  the  world."  Those 

79 


were  your  words.  I  have  memorized  them 
as  you  do  a  part  in  a  play.  Dearest,  that  is 
six  years  ago ;  you  were  eighteen.  I  have 
lived  on  the  hope  held  out  to  me  by  you  on 
that  wonderful  night.  Now,  I  want  to  know 
if  you  really  mean,  "as  ever?"  If  you  do 
love  me  the  same,  and  if  you  are  ready  to 
fulfill  your  promise?  You  have  had  success, 
you  have  seen  the  world,  and  now  I  am  here 
waiting,  as  I  have  been  doing  ever  since  that 
night.  Understand,  I  don't  want  you  to  pity 
me  and  keep  your  word  unless  you  are  really 
pining  for  the  air  of  Sunnyvale,  for  the 
chickens,  the  garden  and,  last  but  not  least, 
for  me.  I  do  not  hold  you  to  your  promise, 
for  promises  made  at  eighteen  are  rarely  kept 
at  twenty-four.  Don't  try  to  be  a  heroine, 
dear.  Tell  me  the  truth;  I  am  strong  and 
can  stand  it,  but  I  must  know  now.  The 
longer  we  wait,  the  worse  it  will  be  for  me. 
As  ever  and  always, 

FRED. 

p.  s. — Take  your  time  and  think  well  before 
you  answer. 


80 


Her  Answer 

DEAR,  DEAR  FRED  : 

I  have  thought  and  thought  until  it  seemed 
my  brain  must  burst,  trying  to  make  up  my 
mind  to  give  it  all  up  and  come  to  you.  Dear 
old  fellow,  I  cannot  do  it.  This  life  is  in 
my  blood.  Success  is  a  wonderful  and  allur 
ing  mistress  that  few  have  the  courage  to 
leave,  but  hang  on  until  she  tires  of  them 
and  leaves  them.  My  pining  for  Sunnyvale 
was  only  temporary,  and  even  then,  it  was  not 
for  Sunnyvale;  something  new,  something  to 
conquer,  a  new  part,  a  new  country.  This 
acting  is  like  a  drug.  At  first  you  are  satis 
fied  and  stimulated  by  a  little  dose;  then 
slowly  and  surely  you  increase  the  dose  until 
you  take  an  overdose  and  that's  the  end.  My 
overdose  will  be  when  I  attempt  a  part  that 
is  too  much  for  me.  I  meant  it  when  I  said 
"as  ever,"  for  I  do  love  you  as  much  as  I 
ever  did,  but  my  life — this  life — has  taught 
me  that  that  was  not  love.  When  we  really 
love  people,  we  cannot  calmly  say,  "I  love 
you,  I  am  going  away  for  a  few  years."  We 
say,  "I  love  you,  take  me  and  don't  ever  leave 
81 


me."  Don't  you  see,  dear,  that  I  was  a  child ; 
now  I  am  a  woman,  and  God  knows  not  as 
happy  with  all  my  success  as  I  was  then. 
Dear  Fred,  try  to  forgive  me,  I  can't  help  it. 
I  can't  live  without  it  all,  and  until  I  see  a 
man  that  I  cannot  live  without  I  shall  go  on 
and  on  increasing  my  dose  and  seeking  for 
the  unattainable  bluebird,  "Happiness." 

MARY. 


His  Answer 

GYPSY  DEAR  : 

I  knew  it  before  I  opened  the  letter.  I  am 
not  a  fool.  I  have  felt  all  that  you  say. 
Sunnyvale  has  lost  its  sun  for  me,  dear,  but  I 
will  not  complain.  I  shall  only  pray  that  some 
good  man  will  come  along  that  you  will  think 
you  cannot  live  without.  After  all,  it  is  in 
the  thinking,  dearest,  for  there  is  no  one  we 
cannot  live  without,  as  proven  by  my  still 
existing  after  receiving  your  letter.  Be 
happy,  little  Gypsy,  and  think  sometimes  of 
the  farmer  that  you  loved  when  you  were 
eighteen,  but  not  when  you  were  twenty-  four. 
Nothing  in  this  wonderful  world  lasts,  dear, 
and  least  of  all,  love. 

God  bless  you, 


FRED. 


Letter  From  Mary's  Sister,  Emily 

Five  months  later 
DEAR  SISTER  MARY: 

I  am  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world.  Fred 
has  asked  me  to  marry  him  and  I  have  said, 
"Yes."  Oh,  dear  sister,  I  did  not  dream  that 
such  happiness  could  exist.  I  have  often 
thought  it  was  funny  that  dear  Fred  did  not 
notice  the  girls  around  here,  and  to  think  that 
all  the  time  he  has  been  in  love  with  me.  We 
will  be  married  this  spring.  I  am  ready  now, 
but  dear  Fred  says  he  has  always  wanted  to 
be  married  when  the  pansies  were  in  bloom; 
just  one  of  his  sweet,  quaint  ideas.  I  know 
you  will  be  pleased,  for  you  always  admired 
Fred  yourself. 

Lovingly, 

Your  little  sister, 

EMILY. 

"Time     heals     all    wounds, 
but  ofttimes  leaves  a  scar." 


The  Stranger 


Mary  Writes  in  Her  Diary 

The  new  play  was  a  great  success  to-night. 
I  know  it  is  the  best  thing  I  have  ever  done. 
It  was  a  wonderful  house  and  we  got  eight 
curtain  calls  after  the  last  act.  I  got  many 
wonderful  flowers.  There  was  a  most  inter 
esting  man  in  the  front  row.  When  I  made 
my  first  entrance  I  met  his  huge  gray  eyes, 
and  all  evening  long  I  kept  looking  into  them 
against  my  will.  He  did  not  applaud  and 
when  I  came  out  after  the  big  third  act  scene 
to  make  a  speech,  I  could  feel  him  looking 
bored,  and  as  if  to  say,  "Why  make  a  speech, 
so  commonplace  ?"  Most  interesting  when  the 
curtain  dropped,  I  rushed  to  the  peephole, 
only  to  see  his  long  thin  back  moving  slowly 
up  the  aisle.  First  thrill  I've  had  in  years. 


His  Note 

MARY  MARSDEN  : 

I  shall  not  make  any  long  speech  about  this 
being  informal.  I  have  seen  you  and  like 
you.  You  have  seen  me  and  like  me,  I  feel. 
I  shall  be  waiting  for  you  at  the  stage  door — 
the  first  one,  by  the  way,  I  have  ever  waited 
at.  If  you  want  to  know  me,  speak  to  me; 
if  not,  I  bow  to  your  judgment. 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  FRONT  Row. 


88 


Scene  at  Stage  Door 

Enter  Miss  Marsden  rather  nervously,  maid 
following.  Going  up  to  stranger. 

MissM.:  How  do  you  do?  (Shaking 
hands.) 

STRANGER:  How  are  you?  (Pause.) 
Where  shall  we  go  to  supper? 

Miss  M. :  Oh,  I  don't  care.  Anywhere  you 
like. 

STRANGER  :  My  car  is  here.  Will  you  send 
your  maid  along? 

Miss  M. :  You  may  go,  Marie ;  don't  wait 
up  for  me. 

STRANGER  :      Thanks. 

Exit  Miss  M.  and  Stranger  in  90  H.  P. 
Fiat  roadster. 


Mary  Writes  Again 

I  have  met  him.  He  is  too  wonderful  to 
be  true.  Tall,  thin,  wonderful,  thin  face,  not 
handsome,  but  intensely  interesting.  Enor 
mous  gray  eyes  that  say  everything.  We 
motored  out  to  Claremont  and  had  a  perfect 
little  supper  and  talked  of  everything.  I  felt 
as  if  I  had  known  him  all  my  life.  I  think 
I  must  be  going  mad  to  meet  a  man  like 
this  and  go  to  supper  with  him,  but  I  have 
always  wished  that  I  could  forget  my  theories 
and  do  something  rash.  Now,  I  have  done 
it  and  have  never  been  so  happy.  I  am  going 
into  the  country  to  lunch  with  him  to-morrow 
alone.  It's  wonderful  how  one's  ideas  about 
chaperons  and  formality  can  be  blown  away 
by  the  puff  of  the  right  man's  cigarette.  Oh, 
I'm  so  foolishly  happy.  I  don't  even  know 
his  name  or  address,  but  I  do  know  I  adore 
him. 


go 


His  Letter 
Two  days  later 

DEAR  MARY  MARSDEN: 

I  knew  from  the  first  moment  I  saw  you 
that  you  are  the  woman  I  have  been  searching 
for  all  of  my  thirty-one  years;  one  who  had 
no  petty  ideas  of  convention ;  one  who  could 
feel  and  be  carried  away  by  her  feelings. 
Had  you  hesitated  that  first  night  because  we 
had  not  been  properly  introduced,  I  should 
have  gone  away  and  never  have  seen  you 
again,  more  disappointed  with  life,  with  the 
world  and  the  pigmies  that  live  in  it  than  ever, 
but  you  did  not  disappoint  me;  you  are  my 
one  big  woman. 


Now,  for  a  few  details :  My  name  is  Hugh 
Gordon,  aged  thirty-one,  appearance — well, 
you  know  the  worst  about  that  detail.  Occu 
pation,  I  have  none.  I  was  educated  to  be  a 
lawyer,  but  law  bored  me,  so  I  became  just 
a  loafer  and  seeker  of  happiness.  I  have 
found  that  in  you,  if  you  care  to  realize 
my  ambition  in  life  for  me.  I  have  more 
money  than  I  can  spend.  I  travel  most  of 
the  time  alone  because  I  have  never  found 
anyone  I  wanted  as  a  traveling  companion. 
I  have  done  everything  I  should  not  do,  and 
very  little  I  should  do.  I  love  you  with  all 
that  is  in  me  to  love  with.  Am  starting  on 
a  trip  around  the  world  day  after  to-morrow, 
my  third  trip,  but  in  reality  my  only  real  trip 
around  the  world  if  you  will  go  with  me.  In 
short,  Mary  Marsden,  will  you  marry  me  to 
morrow  and  sail  with  me  the  next  day  on  the 
steamer  Lusitania. 

Your  most  humble  and  your  most  adoring 
servant, 

HUGH  GORDON. 


p.  s. — The  I's  in  this  letter  make  it  read  like 
an  essay  on  myself,  but  it  is  only  an  explana- 
92 


tion  I  think  due  you.  I  will  not  tell  you  of 
my  family  connections,  for  I  know  they  would 
mean  nothing  to  a  woman  of  your  kind  if  she 
loved  a  man.  H.  G. 


93 


Her  Answer 

DEAR  HUGH  GORDON  : 

Yes,  with  all  my  heart.    I 


94 


The  Awakening 

"  'Tis  twelve  o'clock  and  Mademoiselle 
said  she  wished  to  be  called,"  spoke  the  French 
maid. 

Mary  Marsden  awoke  to  the  stern  realiza 
tion  that  she  had  been  dreaming  a  strangely 
pleasant  dream,  but  that  she  must  meet  her 
manager  at  two  o'clock  to  hear  a  new  play 
read,  and  also  that  rich  and  good-looking  men 
only  in  dreams  reach  the  age  of  thirty-one 
without  being  snatched  by  some  one  of  the 
more  deadly  sex ;  that  young  women  who  have 
been  in  New  York  more  than  a  week  do  not 
dash  forth  with  strange  young  men  in  auto 
mobiles,  even  if  they  are  ninety  horse-power 
(the  motor,  not  the  young  man)  ;  and  in  real 
life  men  seldom  propose  to  women  the  second 
time  they  meet  them;  and,  last  but  not  least, 
that  stars  do  not  leave  their  managers  with 
out  warning  and  take  trips  around  the  world 
when  the  right  man  comes  along,  but  usually 

95 


marry  in  secret  and  keep  right  on  playing, 
oftimes  to  support  the  right  man  in  the  style 
he  has  been  accustomed  to.  Yet,  with  all 
the  realizations  that  the  coffee  and  rolls 
brought  to  Mary  Marsden,  that  night  at  the 
theater,  had  anyone  been  watching  closely, 
they  would  have  seen  her  eyes  glance  toward 
the  front  row,  vaguely  hoping  to  meet  a  pair 
of  large  gray  ones  that  said  everything,  but, 
alas,  only  meeting  the  puffy  ones  of  a  very 
smug,  fat,  old  man  who  saw  nothing  because 
he  was  too  proud  to  wear  his  glasses. 


Our  dreams  are  the  play 
things  of  our  minds  and, 
like  all  playthings,  are 
made  to  be  broken. 


Apris-  Tout 


In  each  life  there  is  a  Something 

That  remains  the  unattained. 
In  each  heart  there  is  a  longing 

For  Something  it  has  not  gained. 
So  we  go  on  madly  struggling 

In  some  future  love  we  dwell, 
Yet  they  say  that  for  each  struggler 

There  s  a  Someone.     Who  can  tell? 


(i) 


97 


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DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

MUG  18  1993 


JUL 


N2  404478 

PS3519 
Janis,  E.  A73 

Love  letters  of          L6 
an  actress. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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